


Even if you ran away

by rironomind



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 13:10:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10809693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rironomind/pseuds/rironomind
Summary: Shinji's new life with his aunt, her boyfriend and his step-sister is a trainwreck. What's worse, no one believes him when he says there is an Angel living next door.





	Even if you ran away

**Author's Note:**

> I finally finished it. I had this drafted out for a while and I lost steam trying to finish it but here it is. I had trouble with phrasing the title. I know it's going to be misunderstood anyway. Sorry it's unbeta'd, I just wanted to get it out.

It’s the warmth and light of the sun on his face that wakes him. He opens his eyes and is greeted by the sight of the cheap, stained ceiling, flaking due to water damage. He checks the time on his phone, 6.30am, just after dawn. Two hours after he awoke from a restless sleep. At least his heart is no longer pounding out of his chest. He flops back onto his soft bed.

 _His_ bed. What a foreign concept. This is not his bed, not his old bed anyway. But it is _his_ now.  

He hears a rapping on his door, a melodic voice follows. “Shinji-kun?” The door opens to reveal a shadow in the shape of a woman standing in the door. “Are you awake? I’m about to leave.”

“Ye-” he responds, words scraping against his dry throat. City air is much drier than the air in the country.  He clear his throat a few times, swallowing a few times before responding, “Alright, Misato-san.”

“There’s breakfast in the microwave. If you go out, don’t forget to lock the door.”

“I won’t.”

“…You are very brave to have done this. It’s not easy. I want you to know that.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

“I’ll be leaving then. Feel free to look around, the city is a wonderful place.” The door closes. He can hear the sound of muffled voices, “I’m off. Alright, don’t be back too late. Take care.” It’s strange, he thinks, how you can actually _hear_ someone smiling.

He closes his eyes and drifts.

\--

There’s someone humming outside.

Shinji puts away the last of his belongings and steps out of his room. The morning sun is well and truly up. He’s drawn all the curtains so that its golden light fills the house, illuminating the specks of sun dust that occupy every corner, drifting downwards like snow. He slides the balcony door open to air the house. He’s hit by a spring breeze that chills him through his thin t-shirt and shorts.

He rubs his arms, the skin dimpling under his fingertips.

The humming stops.

“Cold, isn’t it?” Someone says in a voice so soft, and gentle, like a clear stream of water.  Beside him, perched on the balcony railings of the house next door, is the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen. Pure, snow white from head to toe except for his eyes, a ruby red. “You should put on something warmer if you don’t want to catch a cold.”

\--

“Angels aren’t real, idiot-Shinji!” His half-sister’s repeated that same line since the moment he confided in her and every time he even so much as mentioned the balcony.

“They are! I saw him!” Shinji retorts, nearly upturning the rice pot. “I saw him...” his voice peters off, doubt tinging the edges.

“Are you sure?” Asuka says, cruelly. “You weren’t just dreaming? You always are.”

“No,” Shinji mumbles, swirling his hand in the rice. The grains feel cool, like pebbles between his fingers. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Speak up! Idiot-Shinji!”

“Alright, stop bullying him,” Misato says, “He’s your brother.”

“He’s not _my_ brother,” Asuka sneers, fiercely chopping the leeks with a crisp _snick snick_.

‘You share a father.”

Asuka slams the knife down onto the chopping board, “That man is _not_ my father!”

“Yeah?” Shinji shouts. He scrubs the rice vigorously, the water slowly turning a murky white. He can no longer see the grains. He puts down the pot just as hard, the water leaps into the air and almost spills out. “Well-! Well...he’s not my father either...”

Asuka is silent. He’s facing the sink so he’s not sure what expression she has when she leaves the room. Misato comes over to give him a consolatory pat. “She’ll warm up to you. But not if you keep talking about angels.”

Shinji’s loose grip on the rice pot tightens. “Angels are real,” he insists.

“Shinji, don’t be silly. There are no such things as angels.”

“How do you know?” he asks. “How are you so sure?”

“No one lives next door, Shinji,” Misato sighs. “No one.”

\--

The angel next door loves him, Shinji is sure. He doesn’t know why no one will acknowledge him or knows of his existence. He doesn’t know why the angel isn’t home when he tries to visit with guests, but the moment they leave, he’s out on the balcony again, humming.

“Who are you?” Shinji asks.

“I’m Nagisa Kaworu, Ikari Shinji-kun.”  

“Why do I feel so safe around you?”

“I was born to meet you,” the angel tells him.

Kaworu has a way of speaking that puts Shinji at ease. He speaks calmly, confidently, his words are waves sweeping onto the beach, the shushhh of them feels like it might wash away his worries. It’s also because Kaworu sounds like an adult. The words he uses are sophisticated but not complicated. He never talks down to Shinji, he uses plain language and never minces words.  

They talk over the balcony, among the potted plants and the laundry hung out to dry. Kaworu’s home is sparsely decorated. From what Shinji can see, he has a lot of sheets hung up around the house. Big, white cotton sheets flapping in the breeze when there is one, or hanging loose and sodden if there aren’t any. Shinji doesn’t know why.

Usually, after they’ve been talking for a while, Shinji drags a chair over. It had taken a while for them to start talking, since Shinji had been distracted the past few times by the phone or people coming home. Luckily he has Wednesdays to himself because Asuka has club activities and Misato works late. Kaji works even later.

Still, now that he’s regularly attending school, he rarely gets the chance to even talk.

“I heard you playing the cello the other day.” Kaworu’s smile makes Shinji’s knees wobbly. “You’re very good.”

“Ah, uh,” Shinji stammers. “I’m not that great.”

“Shinji, you are very good.” Kaworu repeats with absolute certainty. “Perhaps we could play a duet sometime? I’d love to accompany you on the violin.”

“Th-the violin? Yeah, that...would be nice,” Shinji smiles.

“Good,” Kaworu says, and Shinji doesn’t even doubt him for a second. He trusts Kaworu, he realises. Implicitly.

It’s the last time he sees Kaworu for two weeks.

\--

School is a tedium he has gotten used to, but not relaxed into. He has friends, or classmates he hangs around with. They share his interests but he wouldn’t say he was particularly close to them. He couldn’t confide in them like he could Kaworu.

That’s the reason he doesn’t even touch his phone when things start to turn ugly. When Misato and Kaji move to the living room to shout and slam objects and tables and doors. Soon he can’t hear them fighting, just the sound of fury permeating the house. The house shakes with helpless rage. Shinji just shakes with helplessness.

Eventually Misato storms out with the promise of never coming back. Shinji hopes it is as empty as it sounds.

Asuka comes home late, just in time to join the two of them for dinner. Shinji doesn’t say anything but he’s grateful he doesn’t have to have dinner with Kaji alone. He’s afraid of what Kaji will say, of his surprisingly loud voice and his brash attitude. Asuka doesn’t know about any of this. She turns on his girlish charm and tries to playfully flirt with Kaji like she normally does. She’s held a candle for him for so long.

Neither of them are expecting Kaji to flirt back, playfully, at first, to Asuka’s delight. But it soon becomes clear to all of them that it holds an undertone of vicious poison, a desperation even he fails to stem.

“And will you become like that too, Asuka? Love a man and _fuck_ him over because of a whim? Just because you were going through a rough patch? Because someone else was, was _kind?”_

Asuka is crying. Kaji has knocked over a cup and ruined the vegetable dish. He watches the liquid spread to the edge of the table. He ignores the liquid overflowing from Asuka’s blue, blue eyes, Asuka’s pleading glance towards him. _Shinji, help._

“ _Who does that?_ People you give your hearts to shouldn’t just, _just tear them up_.” Kaji demands. He raises a hand in frustration and Asuka flinches, squeezing her eyes shut. Before Shinji can say anything, can do anything to avert this car crash in motion, the phone rings.

Then it’s like someone has paused the video. Kaji’s hand raised in anger, Asuka hiding her face, Shinji half-standing to stop him. A look before the leap. The air pierced by the sharp ringing. A pin into a photograph.

No one moves. The call goes to voicemail.

When Shinji blinks, Kaji has left the house. Asuka looks small and childlike curled up on her chair.

“A-Asuka,” he tries. “Are you still hungry?”

When she doesn’t respond, he takes a cloth and begins to clear up the mess, packing the leftover food into containers in case anyone is hungry later. He isn’t quite sure what to say or what he’s doing. Only that he _must_ move.

\--

Asuka is in her room when Shinji tells her the bath is free. “Is Kaji-san back yet?”

“No,” Shinji hesitates, the doorway is jaw hanging agape. “Neither is Misato-san.”

Asuka nods to herself and turns away. “I fucking hate this house,” she mumbles.

Like an idiot, Shinji responds, “You may hate it, but it’s yours.”

“Mine? It’s _not_ mine. This is _not my house.”_ She stands, enraged. “And you are _not_ my brother.”

The tank top she’s wearing slips as she rises from the bed. Her eyes are glued to Shinji so she doesn’t miss the flicker of his gaze to her chest. Instantly her demeanor changes and she leers, letting a coy smile slip across her face.

Shinji hasn’t noticed, too busy pretending to not be staring. “Y-you may hate it, but it’s yours anyway.”

“And you? Shinji?” Her eyes take on a slant that makes his stomach do a flip. She leans forward so that he can see she isn’t wearing a bra. He feels something in his belly- a heat, a monstrous urge crawling up his throat, taking residence in his gut.

“M-me?” His voice is all mousy and crooked, it doesn’t sound at all like him.

“Yes, Shinji, don’t you want to touch my hair? My skin? My breasts? Don’t you want to kiss me?” She leers, leaning forward into his space. She’s so close he can feel hot breath on his face, cooling his spit-slick lips.

He can feel tears gathering in his eyes. He’s confused and turned on and this is his half-sister’s underdeveloped breasts he’s staring at. Bile gathers in his throat even as the heat in his belly starts to grow.

Her voice is sweet and petulant. “Shinji won’t you kiss me?”

He moves his head side to side but he can’t pry his eyes away from her small, pert breasts.

“You like me,” she continues. “Why deny it?”

He can’t stop shaking his head. It’s taking all his effort to ignore the uncomfortable feeling growing in his pants.

“You hate me,” she says. “Why won’t you kiss me.” It’s as if she’s the lights behind her eyes has gone off, leaving only a dim grayness to settle over her expression. Shinji can’t help looking at the balcony, as if Kaworu will appear to save him.

“What? What’s out there?” Asuka says when she notices him looking. It doesn’t take her long to get it. She’s a genius after all. “He’s not real, Shinji,” she says, grabbing his face in her tiny hands, trying to get him to turn to look at her.

“You don’t know that,” Shinji says, softly.

“I’m real,” Asuka tries. “Look at me! I’m real!” She takes his hand, puts it on her breast. He can feel the warm of her skin through her thin tank top, feel her heart hammering wildly away in her chest. He shakes his head again, still looking towards the balcony. He can hear the soft strains of string music in the distance. His hand is trembling.

She lets his hand fall to his side and he clenches and unclenches his hand reflexively, fingertips still tingling with the lingering warmth of her flesh. He turns fully away from her.

“Pretending to be better than me? Think your fantasy is going to shelter you from the reality of this world? Pathetic.” He hears her sneer. She slams the door shut.

Shinji doesn’t move until the phone rings again. He runs to pick it up on the second ring. “Hello? Dad?” He hopes he doesn’t sound as pathetic as he feels.

“Shinji? Is Misato home?” His dad’s voice is curt and to the point, but that’s comforting in its own way.

“No, no, she’s not home right now, she- Dad,” he sniffs. “It’s hard living here. Asuka, Asuka she-”

“Shinji this can wait. I’m busy.”

The dial tone follows shortly after and Shinji replaces the phone on the receiver.

It makes the same sound as the door when he shuts it, an overnight bag clenched in one hand.

\--

He doesn’t keep track of time, just how many times his mp3 player has reset. He runs out of battery just as he reaches the end of the line and is forced to exit the train. He stands on the platform and stares out at the foggy mess that lies beyond the station. I should be somewhere in the country now, he thinks. He still has his headphones plugged into his ear even though there is no music playing.

He exits the station, picks a direction and starts walking. This world must end somewhere, he thinks. He doesn’t know what to do when he finds it, just that he’s looking for it and he refuses to rest until he does.

He ends up on the edge of a cliff, the edges of the horizon are blurred with a grey fog. He could jump. There might be sharp rocks at the bottom for him to dash his head on so all those ugly thoughts can be scattered across the landscape. They might even take root to become large, hulking trees that weep for all eternity.

He won’t jump.

The fog is growing whiter until he can barely see two metres in front of him. He’s reminded of Kaworu’s apartment, strung up with billowing sheets.

He thinks he hears humming in the distance. _No way,_ he thinks, looking into the distance, straining his eyes to find the source. _No way._

When he turns around, it’s not Kaworu that greets him but a group of men in suits. It turns out his father’s reputation is no joke.

He sits in stony silence as they drive him back in the back of the black sedan. He wishes he had a spare set of batteries.

\--

Kaworu touches him on his cheek when he returns, gently thumbing the blackish bruise left by a well-aimed backhand. Shinji winces when he presses down a tad too hard, almost as hard as his voice when he asks, “Did they do this?”

“No, Misato-san did. She forgot to take off her watch.” He blinks away the tears of pain. “She was worried.”

Kaworu drags his thumb down the curve of Shinji’s cheek and traces his jawline. “Where were you?”

“I,” Shinji says. He steps away, mostly so he can breathe. There is a small bug, a beetle of some kind, crawling along the leaves of one of the potted plants. Shinji watches it slip down a waxy leaf. “There are people who love me and people who don’t. There’s overlap between these two. A lot of people who claim to love me don’t love me.” Kaworu’s expression hasn’t changed, but he leans forward, over the railing that separates the two of them. “Those loves aren’t real. You claim to love me, are you real? Does one cancel the other? If you love me, you must be fake; if you are real, you mustn’t truly love me.”

Kaworu’s eyes are a shimmering red. “You have circles under your eyes, Shinji-kun. Have you been sleeping enough?”

Shinji looks for the beetle but it is gone. It probably flew away. He feels strangely disappointed.

“You know I’d never think less of you for anything,” Kaworu says with a kind of fierce kindness that makes Shinji’s face flush. Emboldened, he asks, “Kaworu-kun, can I come over?”

Kaworu’s red eyes widen, “Of course, Shinji-kun, of course.”

It was much, much easier than he thought.

Shinji leaves the house in nothing but his shorts and t-shirt and Kaworu opens the door that has never been opened. Shinji expected there to be dust or cobwebs but it opens easily with a metallic _snick snick._ Kaworu stands in the doorway, smiling. “Aren’t you cold, Shinji-kun?”

Not anymore, Shinji thinks. “I was wearing this on the balcony, it’s colder there.”

Kaworu laughs, “Come in, come in.”

Shinji does, his bare feet pleasantly cool against Kaworu’s wooden floors.

\--

Kaworu’s house is as sparse as Shinji imagined. He has the normal kitchenettes, bedroom and bathroom, and his living room has a sofa and a coffee table, but the place is filled with sheets handing from laundry lines that run from wall to wall. Kaworu takes them all down on the first day.

“No,” Shinji says. “Leave them up. It’s nice. They remind me of wings.”

Kaworu says, “Dear Shinji-kun, they get in the way.” But he looks pleased nonetheless. He leaves some of them up and puts the rest away.

Kaworu’s house gives him the strangest feeling of comfort and anticipation. It is a place where he feels most like himself. They talk and when the silence creeps over the point of comfort, they fill it with music. They play duets, Shinji on the cello, Kaworu on the violin, just like he promised.

When they tire, they rest and talk some more, sometimes for hours. “I should have come to you, when I ran away,” Shinji says offhandedly.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Shinji says. The ceiling grows blurry and his voice cracks. “I don’t know. I missed you.”

“Oh.” Kaworu looks sorry and normally Shinji would be arrogant and vindictive. He would think ‘you _should_ be sorry’, but instead, he thinks ‘there’s nothing to be sorry for. I was stupid and you are perfect-’

Kaworu’s body is lanky and bony and made of barely formed muscle. His arms and legs are still hairless still though his voice is deeper than Shinji’s. He doesn’t have any boobs, or curves, except for his cheeks which are tempered by his high cheekbones. His hair and smile are both soft. His words are soft. He is probably the softest person Shinji knows.

Shinji slips a hand against Kaworu’s cheek, dragging his thumb down like how Kaworu touched his bruise. “Do angels cry?” Shinji wonders aloud. “Do angels die?”

Kaworu’s hands are cool and delicate, fluttering like birds against his skin. He strokes Shinji’s hair, his face, gently, like a mother or, maybe even a lover. “Do you want to know the answer?” He asks softly.

“No,” Shinji says, terrified. “No, I don’t.” He shivers even though it’s summer. “Kaworu, who are you?”

Kaworu smiles. “I’m Kaworu.”

It’s still summer when Shinji realises that something is _not quite right_.

Time isn’t passing the way it should. Details of objects and places have started to blur. He can no longer recall anything outside of Kaworu’s apartment. Shinji doesn’t voice any of his concerns, but he does study the mugs Kaworu hands him like they were some kind of alien specimen. The colours alternating between vivid and dull but he can never place the name of such a colour.

They’ve taken to lying on the floor of Kaworu’s apartment. Kaworu has laid out a few pillows for them. He’s set up the fan so it blows in their direction from time to time. The sun streaming in the balcony hot but Shinji doesn’t sweat. The sound of cicadas is deafening, but it never ends.

Shinji can’t remember the last time he slept in his own bed.

The windchime tinkles in the wind and Shinji can’t remember what Asuka’s voice sounds like. Kaworu brushes his hair, his hands alighting on Shinji’s head. “What’s wrong?”

His breath is like waves upon a beach brushing against the sand. _Shush shush_.

Shinji asks dreamily, “Kaworu, who are you?”

“I’m Nagisa Kaworu. You are Ikari Shinji, isn’t that enough?”

No. Shinji thinks, no, no, no, it’s not enough. “Who _are_ you? What are you?”

“I’m Kaworu,” Kaworu says sadly.

“Don’t lie to me,” Shinji demands, panicked.

“I’m not,” he says fiercely. “I would never.” His voice drops and so does his hand. Shinji’s head feels warmer without it. “I won’t lie to you, but please,” he begs. “Don’t ask again.”

Shinji realises, with startling suddeness, that despite the fact that they’ve been talking for so long he’s lost track of how long, he knows nothing about Kaworu. “Where are we?”

“My apartment”

“No, I mean-”

“Neo-Tokyo”

“No..”. This isn’t right. They are not in Neo-Tokyo, it was destroyed-

“No?” Kaworu reaches for his hand and Shinji slaps it away. Kaworu recoils as if burned.

“No, no, how can it be summer?” Shinji exclaims, voice rising. He sits up and gestures at the sun filtering through the flapping sheets. “How can the sun be shining?”

“Shinji, calm down.”

“Kaworu,” he turns to Kaworu stricken, “angels aren’t real are they? Are you real?”

Kaworu looks down at his hands. “Angels...are not what you think they are.”

The windchime thinkles in a sudden breeze. Shinji goes cold all over.

“Kaworu-kun. Who are you?” Kaworu turns to look at him. His mouth moves but Shinji doesn’t hear his answer. Suddenly, he’s sitting on Kaworu’s chest with his hand around Kaworu’s slender neck. He’s not squeezing or anything, just holding Kaworu’s neck firmly enough that he can feel the warmth of his skin, his breathing and his pulse. He’s not squeezing, but Shinji is suddenly deathly afraid to take his hands away.

“Shinji-kun,” Kaworu says calmly. “Shinji, Shinji, Shinji. I love you.”

How did I get here? Shinji thinks, breathing quickly. How? “I know,” Shinji says. He can’t believe anything now. The wind chimes, the sheets fluttering sound like wings. Facts are no longer facts. “Did you do this? Did you create this world?”

“No,” Kaworu says patiently. His words vibrate against Shinji’s fingertips so that he can almost feel the texture of them. “No, I don’t have that kind of power. You did. Do. You created this world, Ikari Shinji-kun, the First Child.”

“Fourth Child,” Shinji murmurs in response. Louder, “I’m scared, Kaworu-kun, I’m scared.”

“I’m scared too, Shinji-kun. But I’m not afraid.”

“What does that mean?” Shinji demands, close to tears.

“It means that there’s fear in my heart. I can’t make it go away, but I trust you. I want to make you happy. Are you happy Shinji-kun?”

“I-I don’t know anymore. I think I fucked it up.” Shinji is lost. He hears the sound of the phone ringing. He hasn’t heard the phone ring in days, it feels like. He jerks his head up, it’s coming from just the other side of the wall, from his apartment.

“Will you answer it?”

_Tinkle tinkle._

“Kaworu-kun,” Shinji pleads, stricken. “Kaworu-kun what do I do? I didn’t want for this to happen.”

Suddenly the phone is right in front of him. But he has both hands wrapped around Kaworu’s neck, if he lets go, if he answers the call, he will see what’s beneath his fingers. Through the gaps in his fingers, he can already see...he can see....

_Red_

_Red, red, so much red._

Kaworu’s red eyes widen when Shinji grips his throat even tighter to stem the flow of blood. He lets out a pained choke. “Shinji-kun,” Kaworu says.

The world is draining of colour, desaturating down to a mere outline.

Kaworu’s voice is a soft breeze. “We are the only two people in this world now. But that telephone will lead you back. Will you go?”

“What will happen if I let go?” Shinji demands even though he already knows the outcome will be the same whatever he chooses. “What will happen?”

“I’m sorry, it wasn’t really a choice, was it?” Kaworu asks rhetorically. “I don’t think it’s ever been.”

Shinji’s chest expands with the effort of his deep, heaving sobs. “Is this my fault? Kaworu-kun, I, you, l-, lo-”

Kaworu puts his hands on Shinji’s hands. His grip is strong. Stronger than Shinji’s. He begins to pry off Shinji’s hands, very slowly, counting off the fingers as they fall away. “Next time,” Kaworu says. “Next time we will go outside of this apartment.” He lifts Shinji’s pinky finger. “We will attend school together.” Fourth finger. “We will go to the aquarium and watch the stars.” Third finger.  “We will go for the summer festival.” Index finger. “Next time, I’ll make you happy.” He lifts off Shinji’s thumbs. Red leaks from a line around Kaworu’s neck onto Kaworu’s wood floor.

“No!” Shinji shouts and tries to tighten his grip. It’s too late. Kaworu is shining bright white, expanding around Shinji’s hands. The last thing he sees is Kaworu’s smile, and then Shinji is holding nothing.

He is alone in Kaworu’s apartment which looks both flat and incredibly real. The sheets have fallen to the ground, blown off by the wind or tugged down. Shinji doesn’t know. They lie cold and still like dead waves upon a beach.

The phone is still ringing.

Shinji slumps forward on his haunches. Maybe if he closes his eyes and lays on his side, Kaworu will come back.

He feels a sharp tug on his arm. It feels like someone’s trying to wrench off his arm. Before he can react, his hand is on the receiver. “No!” He jerks away but the phone comes with him. He stares at it. He can hear someone calling his name, crackling and distant.

“Ikari-kun, Shinji! Baka-shinji. Shinji-kun.”

“H-hello? “

The world flashes white. He thinks somewhere in there may be blinking red eyes, but there is only himself.

He opens his eyes. Asuka is leaning over him wearing a red plugsuit and an eyepatch. She looks angry but also worried. Behind her is Ayanami Rei, looking hesitant. “Stop crying and get up,” she snaps. “Let’s go.”

\--

In another universe, the windchime tinkles softly in the breeze as two boys sleep side by side through an eternal summer.


End file.
